7.

Samantha’s POV

I didn’t wait to watch him leave. Anthony Vale had this infuriating way of walking into a room and lighting a match to my nerves, then leaving like the fire wasn’t his fault.

It wasn’t just his arrogance, or the fact that he skated like a god and acted like a ghost. It was everything about him. The air around him felt like it needed permission to breathe.

Still, when I heard footsteps echoing down the hallway, part of me tensed automatically. I would’ve been long gone by now, but I was waiting for Graham.

I kept my eyes fixed on my phone, pretending to scroll through my schedule, maybe, just maybe, he’d ignore me like always.

Except, it wasn’t Anthony.

“Wow,” a familiar voice drawled behind me. “Didn’t think you’d actually go through with it.”

I turned slowly, already knowing exactly who it was.

Logan Pierre.

Polished. Smirking. Every inch the wannabe golden boy, now skating with Tasha Lin like I’d just been a placeholder in his story.

He folded his arms and tilted his head toward the rink. “Skating with Vale now? Really? I get it. You’re mad I left. But teaming up with him to get under my skin? A little dramatic, don’t you think?”

My jaw clenched. “This has nothing to do with you,” I fired, barely holding myself together.

He scoffed. “Sure it doesn’t. Come on, Sam. This is business. I made the best choice for my career. You should’ve seen it coming. I can’t be stuck with you forever, I needed someone better.”

I knew Tasha Lin was better than me,ranked higher, more polished,but I had at least expected Logan to finish the season with me. To stay for Nationals. Instead, he abandoned me like a bad decision, just one day before we were supposed to compete.

I felt the heat rise in my chest, but he wasn’t done.

“Here’s a tip,” he added, stepping closer, lowering his voice just enough to make my skin crawl. “Don’t get too comfortable. Anthony Vale doesn’t care who’s skating beside him as long as they don’t slow him down. You’re not a partner to him, you’re a replacement. Celeste will be back, and when she is, you’ll be right back where you started.”

My fingers curled around my phone, tight enough that my knuckles ached. I looked him straight in the eye.

It wasn’t news that Celeste would be back,everyone knew that. But until then, I was going to make the most of her absence.

I’d push harder, skate better, seize every goddamn spotlight. If this was my window, I’d break through it. I’d make damn sure Logan regretted ever walking away.

“Good,” I said quietly, each syllable like a blade. “Then I’ve got until then to make you regret ever leaving me. I’m Anthony Vale’s partner,you know what that means, don’t you? It means I’m fucking skating with the best.”

His smug expression faltered just slightly. A flicker of something uncertain passed through his eyes before he covered it with a humorless laugh and shook his head.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away,confident, self-assured, completely convinced he still lived rent-free in my mind.

I stared after him, every inch of me vibrating with fury. He’d tossed me aside like I was nothing, and now he thought I was trying to win some petty revenge game?

No. I wasn’t trying to prove anything to him at first.

But now?

Now I was going to bury him.

I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to turn away from the hallway where Logan had disappeared. I needed to calm down before Graham showed up, before I did something reckless.

Then I heard footsteps again,steady, unhurried.

My spine tensed.

For a second, I thought Logan had come back for round two, ready to drop another smug comment over his shoulder.

But no. This wasn’t Logan.

The air changed.

His presence moved like static through the atmosphere, curling around me like invisible wires pulling tight. I felt it before I even heard him speak,like the room took a breath and waited for him to fill it.

Anthony.

Of course.

“Still fuming?” His voice slid in like a smooth knife. “You know your face might freeze like that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Do you ever take a day off from being insufferable?”

He laughed,soft, quiet, infuriating. “It’s part of the package.”

I turned my head then, finally meeting his eyes. “Do you ever think before you talk? Or do the words just fall out and hope they land well?”

He tilted his head, utterly unfazed. “I was just trying to make conversation.”

“You don’t try anything. You assume. You walk in, act like you’re doing me some favor by skating with me, like I begged to be here.”

He didn’t flinch, but something in his face tightened, a flicker that disappeared almost instantly. I noticed it then: his eyes. Deep emerald green, sharp and striking. He wasn’t wearing his contact lenses anymore.

Why had he worn them during the performance but taken them out now?

For a second, the question hovered on my lips, but I let it go. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t my place to ask. Not yet. There were boundaries between us, lines drawn in ice and history, and I wasn’t sure which ones I was ready to cross.

“I didn’t ask for this either, Meadows. Again, don’t flatter yourself.”

I folded my arms, biting back the million things I wanted to say. He always had this talent,getting under my skin with a few words, making me feel small even when I knew I wasn’t. I hated how fast my blood boiled around him.

He adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder and muttered, “See you tomorrow.”

I said nothing. Just watched as he walked away like the argument hadn’t touched him at all.

I lingered for a few minutes, half-expecting to feel better after venting. Instead, I felt heavier. Frustrated.

When the text from Graham finally came in, I made my way outside the arena and down the sidewalk, turning toward the nearby café where he had parked.

That’s when I heard it, a loud screech of tires.

My head snapped toward the street, eyes locking onto a sleek red Ferrari stopped at the intersection just beyond the arena’s exit. Horns blared behind it,sharp, frantic. A car had swerved at the last second to avoid a collision. Someone shouted.

But the Ferrari didn’t move.

My eyes narrowed. I peered through the dim light, and despite the shadows, I recognized the figure behind the wheel. The beams from the oncoming car lit up the Ferrari’s interior just enough to confirm what my gut already knew.

Anthony.

Of course it was him. He was the kind of guy who drove something sleek and expensive enough to park guilt in the glove compartment.

But the way he was sitting there, unmoving, didn’t feel right.

Without thinking, I sprinted across the pavement toward the driver’s side. I banged my hand against the window, breath coming in short, fast puffs. “Anthony!”

No response.

He turned his head slowly, like he couldn’t quite register who I was, like he wasn’t really seeing me. Something was wrong. This wasn’t the Anthony I knew, the one who would’ve smirked or tossed a line or asked if I was stalking him.

“Anthony!” I said again, louder. “What the hell are you doing? Move your car!”

He blinked. Several times. Then his voice came, low and hoarse. “Samantha?”

My pulse kicked into overdrive. “Yes, it’s me. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

I scanned his body instinctively, no blood, no sign of impact, but something was off. His stillness wasn’t calm. It was disoriented.

He was quiet for too long, scaring me.

Then Anthony finally said, “I… I can’t see.”